


In The Night Kitchen

by Catchclaw



Series: 2.1 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Established Relationship, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Smith/Wesson AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While preparing a midnight snack for Sam, Dean Smith gets caught up in his memories of another evening in the kitchen. With Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Night Kitchen

Dean stared into the fridge.

No, not a hell of a lot of options. Eggs, lemons, some old yogurt. Bottled water.

He leaned in and spotted something in the vegetable drawer, something that had escaped the master cleanse purge.

Ah. A green pepper.

He balanced it in his hand. Looked ok. Smelled ok.

Omelets, then. He'd make IT boy an omelet.

Not much, but no delivery places were open at this hour.

He knew that for sure.

He closed the fridge, and for a second he could have sworn that something fluttered, that the menus Cas had once had plastered all over it had suddenly reappeared.

But no.

He sighed and dropped the pepper on the kitchen island, started digging around for the cutting board and a decent knife.

To be fair, he hadn't really been expecting guests.

Much less sex.

Much less, sex with someone that he actually wanted to stick around for awhile.

So he'd make do with what he had.

He looked over at the counter next to the fridge and saw Cas' shadow, saw him perched there, preparing himself to snark over Dean's cooking, at his attempts at precision, order, control, "when the kitchen," Cas had intoned, "should be a place of experimentation. Creativity."

Then, Dean remembered, he'd looked up, annoyed, and said: "Cas, I'm frying bacon. Not a lot of call for creativity here."

Cas nodded sagely, one arm stretching up to snag a bag of chips from the top of the fridge.

"Mmm," he said, yanking the bag open. "Exception that proves the rule, honey."

Dean snorted.

"Sure," he said.

Cas sat back, tugging the chips with him. "But come on," he said. "You can't tell me there isn't a part of you that wishes for a little more freedom. For a chance to improvise every now and then."

"Eh," Dean said. "Maybe."

Cas made a disbelieving noise. "How long have you been with Frank and Harris? Five years? And how fast did they stick you in that sales rut? Northeast Corridor blah blah blah?"

Dean sighed.

"Exactly!" Cas said through a mouthful. "So how can you enjoy that, dealing with the same people, the same problems every damn day, year after year after year?"

"Any job is like that," Dean said.

"Mine's not."

Dean turned.

"Really?"

"Really. If it was, I'd leave."

Dean stared at him.

"You're serious," he said.

Cas tilted his head. "Well, yeah. What would be the point of staying if I was bored all the time?"

"But you're a manager. You have a nice office. Good healthcare. A strong reputation. You're a name in the field. Why would you throw all of that away? Especially in today's economy?"

Cas raised his eyebrows.

"Am I talking to you or to your dad?" he asked.

Dean scowled. "Cas--"

"That's what I thought."

Dean turned back to the pan, gritting his teeth. Hearing his father's voice in his ears. Again. Always.

"Dean," Cas said after a minute, his voice soft. "I'm just worried about you. You seem unhappy there, is all."

Dean sighed. Let his shoulders sag.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Maybe a little." Then he grimaced. "So I'm that obvious?"

Cas nodded. "To me," he said, chomping down on another handful of chips.

Dean looked over and shook his head.

"God, where do you put all of that crap?" he asked. "Do you ever stop eating?"

Cas stopped chewing, narrowed his eyes in this way that should have been completely ridiculous--but damn if it didn't make Dean's heart race, that look.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Cas purred, swallowing. He slid off the counter and sauntered over, smoldering just out of reach. The bastard.

Dean tried to look nonchalant. "It's your nickel," he said, turning his back. Poking purposefully at the bacon.

Cas laughed in that way that made Dean's spine lock and his skin shiver.

"Ok," he drawled. "But."

He sprang like a cat and shoved his arms around Dean's waist. Pushed his face into Dean's back, his hands into Dean's hips.

"It'd be more fun to show you," he breathed.

Dean made a show of not turning around, of keeping his eyes set on the stove, of ignoring Cas' lips sliding over his neck. Resting at the top of his spine.

"I'm busy," he said, his voice way reedier, higher and thinner than it felt in his mouth.

"Mmmhmm," Cas hummed. "I can see that." His hands lifted off of Dean's hips and wound their way up, his palms pushing into Dean's chest, his nails digging into the fabric. "Keep at it, baby. I'll just wait."

He shifted a little, enough so that he was kind of straddling Dean's leg. Enough so that he could work his cock into the top of Dean's thigh. Just a little. Just enough to get some friction going. To get him hissing into Dean's ear.

To make Dean's vision fritz out, his body drop all of its energy into keeping track of Cas: the movement of his fingers, the press of his body, the sweet curl of his voice.

"Yeah," Cas murmured, kicking his hips in a little faster. "Yeah. Take your time. I'll be just fine without you."

And the sound he made then, somewhere between a growl and a groan, made Dean drop the tongs, snap his hand out and turn off the burner, drive his body back into Cas. Into his hands. His cock. He pushed until Cas hit the kitchen island, then swiveled. He got one good look at Cas' face--eyes wide, mouth open, big knowing grin--before he kissed him, slammed his mouth down and in. Grabbed Cas' hands and planted them back on his body.

They curled into each other, devouring, sucking, pushing. Dean got his hands under Cas' shirt and sank his hands into skin that leapt up into his touch, even as Cas returned the favor and dug his nails into Dean's back. They seesawed, their mouths moving so quick, so low into the other's that they both started panting, Dean sighing into Cas' face and Cas growling right back.

Dean pushed him, hard, rocked him back against the island and ground his mouth, his body into Cas, relentless.

"Dean," Cas groaned. "Dean, honey, yes. _Yes_."

Dean braced his hands on the counter and stopped kissing, started flat-out shoving his cock into Cas' hip, letting Cas ride his thigh. He bent his head over Cas' shoulder, hearing himself whine, listening to himself plead.

"Cas," he managed. "Want you. Your cock. Please let me have it. Let me. Please."

He felt Cas' hand lock around his neck. That knowing voice in his ear, his cock hard and hot and there, oh, right the fuck there.

"Baby," Cas whispered. "Is this what you want?"

Dean tried to answer with his mouth but his voice was a blur.

"You want my cock?" Cas hissed, snapping his hips.

"Cas, yes, Cas, please, I--" Dean wheezed, his body starting to short circuit. He felt Cas shift, try to move away, towards the bedroom, but he held him fast, locked his arms tighter, drove his body forward.

"Oh," Cas panted, kicking his hips right back. "Is that it? You want it right here? Fine. Take it. Take it now." He pushed Dean's head down with one hand and got his belt, his fly open with the other.

Dean let go of the counter, let himself drop, let his knees hit the floor before he reached out, grabbed Cas' waist and yanked him forward, that beautiful cock brushing his cheek, skating across his lips.

Cas groaned, his smirk slipping, and stretched his fingers around Dean's face.

"Yes," he said, his voice stretched thin. On the verge of being wrecked. "Dean, honey. Please."

Dean raised his eyes and winked, letting his hand hover, not quite touch, Cas' cock. Now that he had it, now that it was right there, he felt calmer, more in control.

Hungrier.

He waited for a minute, watched Cas start to shake, his body humming like a tuning fork, making this tone that only Dean could hear.

Well, Dean and anyone in a two-block radius with their windows open, because damn, could Cas get loud.

Dean opened his mouth, snaked his tongue out to brush the tip and Cas bucked, shoved his hips forward as Dean kept teasing him, testing him, just barely touching him, again and again and again, until Cas cried out and started cursing.

Which was always Dean's favorite part. Driving Cas right the fuck over a cliff like this. Watching that easy charm fall away, the sly smiles turn to dust, that overconfidence evaporate until he was this raw, lovely thing under Dean's hands, beautiful and desperate and his.

"Fuck, Dean. Fuck!" Cas groaned, digging his fingers in Dean's jaw. "Goddamn it, don't--oh, _fuck_ , yeah, fuck, Dean!" He thrust himself forward again and this time, Dean opened to meet him, let him sink all the way in, and the satisfaction on Cas' face was awesome: his cheeks flushed, his eyes shining, his mouth tied in a bow.

But Dean was hot, his skin trying to burn its way out of his clothes, and so he just let himself go, let Cas fuck into his mouth and clutch his hair and shout, purr, curse, moan Dean's name in a dozen different ways.

It sounded like another language, his name, when it was falling out of Cas' mouth like that.

Cas rocked his body forward again, every part of him shivering, then stopped, just for a second. And Dean knew enough to look up, to watch Cas' face unwind itself and shimmer and then fucking explode with an enormous grin as he groaned something incoherent and roared into Dean's mouth, his throat.

After a minute, Dean felt Cas' fingertips on his chin. His nose. He opened his eyes. Cas was still grinning, his face snapped happily in two.

"Honey," he said, his voice dripping with it. "Get up here."

Dean staggered up, swayed, and let Cas turn him, plant him against the island, and kiss him. Cas' tongue worked in, lapping himself from Dean's mouth, sucking and nipping, using his teeth and stroking until Dean was keening, his voice winding its way between Cas' lips.

"Yeah," Cas whispered, tugging his mouth away. "I know. I know."

In one long move, he slid down Dean's body and perched on the floor, burying his face in Dean's crotch even as his hands found the zipper and pulled, found the opening and moved in, grabbed Dean's cock and yanked it out.

Dean looked down and watched himself disappear into Cas' mouth, glide over those dark lips and around that loving tongue and it was just about all he could stand, seeing that.

A choked noise shot out of his mouth and Cas looked up, his lips curving. He pulled away a little, just enough to say, "It's ok. It's ok. Come, baby. Come on," and Dean just leaned back against the counter and came apart, hearing himself chanting Cas' name, watching Cas swallow and stroke and soothe him back down to the ground.

Cas wound his way up and pressed his mouth into Dean's throat. Wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. Propped them both up.

Dean pressed his nose into Cas' hair, panting, running his hand over Cas' shoulders. His back.

They stood like that for a minute, dishevelled and stupid. Wavering and happy.

Then Cas' stomach growled.

Dean groaned.

"Come on!" he said. "You just ate!"

Cas snickered into his chest. "You must not have satisfied me," he cooed. "You'll have to try harder next time." He raised his head, met Dean's eye, and declared: "We're gonna order a pizza."

"Oh we are, huh?"

"Mmmhmm," Cas said, straightening, putting himself back together. Tucking things back into place. "And we're ordering from Del Ray's."

"Why? Their crust is like cardboard."

"Yeah," Cas agreed, plucking the menu off the fridge. "But their delivery boy is really cute."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"What?" Cas said innocently. "I appreciate a good pizza man. So sue me."

Dean grinned. "Just don't get green peppers," he said, pointing, reaching for a beer.

"Mmm," said Cas, waltzing into the living room. "Green peppers. Got it."

**

Dean blinked. Came back to himself and looked down at the cutting board. Watched himself move the knife, watched the chunks of pepper march across the board. Orderly. Neat. Arranged.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and pretended not to notice that his face was wet. Just a little. Just enough.

"Hey," Sam said from the doorway.

"Hey," Dean said, dropping his hand.

Sam pushed his fingers back through his hair, damp from the shower. He was glowing a little, the hot water still pink in his cheeks, still painted across his bare chest.

"You want help with that?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Yeah. That'd be great."

Sam loped over and Dean stepped away, making room, but Sam stepped into him instead, caught his waist in one giant paw and kissed him slow and easy until Dean felt his heart stutter.

He opened his eyes, saw Sam looking down at him, and damn, how tall was this guy, anyway? Had he grown three inches in the shower?

Sam smiled. "Thanks for letting me stay," he said.

Dean smiled back. "Thanks for staying."

They kind of stared at each other for a moment. Grinning.

"You know," Sam said, moving his fingers across Dean's forehead. "I'm not really that hungry."

"You're not?"

"Nah," Sam said. Casual. "Can we just go back to bed?"

And there was something in the way he said it, so cool and calm. Like it was an everyday thing for him, going to bed with Dean.

"Ok," Dean heard himself say. Sam gave him this awesome grin and started backing away, stretching his hand out. Asking Dean to follow.

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Maurice Sendak's book of the same name. Rest in peace, Maurice.


End file.
